You are in a wasteland. Rotting wood and discoloured metal poke through the muddy ground. The last remaining silo in the area has seen better days.
- You look around, walk around. Your feet stick in the mud; the longer you stand, the further you sink. It's cool; it seals the feet in, away from the air. The mud life joins with your skin. You wiggle your toes, displacing mud—the wiggling stops; you let the mud back in. You push your heel in and rock yourself along the arch of your feet.
You remove your feet with a squelch and a pop. You wonder if your feet-cuts will get infected.
Possible actions:
- Examine the silo
Inventory:
- You carry only a bent knife and a smashed radio. It has been a long ride. Your blue jeans are shredded; the T-shirt, stretched 2 sizes larger, is more red than white, and your shoes are unaccounted for. You wear a crumpled paper party hat.
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